


Closer

by DollyPop



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: 30 Day OTP Porn Challenge, Consensual, Consensual Sex, Cunnilingus, Enthusiastic Consent, Explicit Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Naked Cuddling, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-02
Updated: 2016-03-04
Packaged: 2018-05-24 06:19:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6144306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DollyPop/pseuds/DollyPop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Part of it was the oxytocin and the dopamine and serotonin that made him so inclined to feel Marie’s skin, to press her to him, but most of it was simply <i> her</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Cuddles (Naked)

The sunlight filtered in through the slivers of space left by the curtains as the material fluttered away with the breeze, and he grumbled, curling in on himself as the slight chill passed through the room. Stein’s brows furrow in sleep, arms instinctively tightening around something warm and plush and solid that brings comfort and a surprising amount of peace and heat. His poor circulation made him feel like even the smallest of temperature changes were massive, and he shivered from beneath the blanket, tugging whatever warmth was in his grasp even closer to his chest.

The small squeak that sounded off in his ear, however, sleepy and amused, made him groan more, the world starting to come into a hazy kind of focus, still all too blurry at the edges. His fingers dug into the softness of what he was holding, resulting in a small giggling and a “Franken,” that was more affectionate than anything else.

 _Marie_ , his mind supplied, and with it, he pressed himself nearer to her, reveling in her heat. She tugged on his hair slightly, calling his name out with the syllables stretched as though to bring him to the waking world, and he shook his head, denying the inevitable.

It was a losing battle. When his eyes fluttered open, immediately settling into a squint, he was convinced for a moment that the bright gold over his gaze was sunlight. He was certain of it until his mind caught up to him, Marie wriggling in his grasp, forcing her golden locks to shift over his face, soft and tangible.

And it _tickled_.

He made a sleepy sound in the back of his throat as he tucked his head down, hiding away from the world, and Marie giggled once more, her hands stroking down his spine.

“C’mon, sleepy. Rise and shine,” she said, all the while lifting her chin so he had room to nuzzle beneath her jaw, closing his eyes to the morning, basking in the comfort of her body.

“Ten more minutes,” he bargained, but he found that he had already awakened, his mind starting to chug along. He still needed caffeine, preferably in an IV so he could bring it directly into his bloodstream, but he had already started to run his hands over Marie’s skin, more interested in lazing in bed for a few moments than rising from the warm cocoon of comforter and multiple pillows. One of Marie’s legs, silky and bare was dragging up his calf, as though to tease, before she nudged him.

“We need to be at school soon,” she informed him, arching when he let his fingers play over her lower back, ghosting his nails over the dimples.

“Call out,” was the only solution he offered, finding that teaching was the last thing on his mind. They had stayed up all too late the night before, both of them irritable and annoyed at grading too many papers, arguably last minute, and needing to unwind.

Marie’s hands ran over his shoulders and he hummed, remembering how the nails bit in the night before, the way she bucked and had to use him as leverage. His smirk stretched the stitches on his face and he pressed his cheek against her neck, nuzzling. He felt like jelly, relaxed and warm and comfortable, and he supposed she must have felt the aftereffects of the natural release of endorphins, too, because she only shook her head, saying “Franken,” more in amusement than exasperation.

Ah, she was in a good mood. That would be the serotonin spike, he assumed. Were he in a more productive state, he’d certainly be tempted to get out some equipment for testing out just how much of that spike was Marie’s natural disposition and how much of it was because of him.

Slowly, he shuffled downward, settling his ear against her breast and cataloguing her heartbeat as he brought his palms lower, cupping her ass. Marie hummed, squirming slightly as his hair tickled her jaw, but she seemed to cuddle to him, one of her legs between his, the other pressed against his outer thigh. Slowly, she let one hand tangle in his hair, her index finger tracing where his bolt met his skull, and he moaned lowly as he kneaded her flesh, arching like a cat and nuzzling between her breasts. He felt comfortable, at peace, _happy_ , and he rubbed his cheek against the soft of her, particularly enjoying the cushion of her chest.

She laughed at his reaction, as well as how his stubble scratched at her slightly, and she rubbed a small circle between his shoulder blades. “Someone’s affectionate this morning,” she commented, yelping when he squeezed her ass, pulling her to his frame.

“It’s the oxytocin,” he replied, his mouth muffled by her skin, and Marie tipped her head back as he ran his hands over her thighs, stroking over her, warming her up before settling his hands on her backside once more, fingers digging in slightly.

Well, that was a lie. _Part_ of it was the oxytocin, and the dopamine and serotonin, that was making him so inclined to feel Marie’s skin and press her to him, but most of it was simply _her_. He wanted to be close to her, near in multiple ways. In every way. He felt her warm exhale move some of his hair and he could note how she was breathing against him, her plush, small frame pressed so flush to his scarred skin that he could feel her lungs expanding, pushing her ribs out slightly. When he closed his eyes, her soul was thrumming and happy, and he couldn’t help but extend his own to softly push against hers, asking for resonance.

He knew she was smiling without even having to look up, even as he set a kiss her sternum, feeling her stroking over his arm. Her naked form against his was a reminder of what they had done the night before, and when their souls linked, he felt her nuzzle against his.

His eyebrows went up and he finally looked at her face, chest warming at the serene expression he witnessed, and Marie scratched at his scalp as she ran her fingers through his hair.

“Someone’s affectionate this morning,” he threw at her, almost dryly, but he knew she could see the slightest gleam in his eyes because her smile grew.

“It’s the oxytocin,” she responded, giggling even as he smirked, rolling her onto her back and coming over her in a straddle.

“That so?” he asked, untangling their legs and settling on his knees, one between her thighs and the other trapping her left leg.

“Mmmm,” she hummed, fluttering her eye closed. “Must be.”

His smirk softened as he looked at her, first at her face. The silvery scar tissue of her eye was no matter to him; she had once told him she wouldn’t flip the eyepatch up for anyone else, too scared of being rejected. He lowered himself until he could set a kiss to the depressed eyelid, as he often did, as though to reassure her, and her soul warmed even further as though in reward. When he pulled back, it was just enough so that his eyes could skim over her bare form, previously obscured to him by the blanket wrapped around them both.

He must have been in a teaching mood, last night, because he noted how each mouth-mark on her was mapping her internal organs.

_“Appendix,” he’d said, kissing over her side, leaving a burning trail as he worked up to her breasts. “Lungs. . .heart.” The kiss over that particular spot was more delicate than the rest, and his hand had slowed down to a butterfly of a touch, slowly circling her damp flesh, considerably further south. Marie arched against him, grinding down on his fingers to entice more friction, asking for sweet mercy._

_“Oh, god, Franken, stop teasing!”_

He smiled wider at the memory, lowering his lips to her throat where a particularly dark hickey was marking her carotid artery. He’d sucked at the flesh atop it particularly hard when he was losing himself in her, he remembered, feeling each quickening thump of her pulse on his tongue had undid him. Marie sucked in a sharp breath when he kissed it, and he could feel her heartbeat growing faster as a result. His knee gently ground against her and her hands came up to his shoulders once more, nails biting in, so familiar.

Slowly, pulling away once again, he hovered over her, supporting his weight on his knees, which forced him to grind against her all the harder. Marie’s soul thrummed in pleasure, her temperature rising as he smiled down at her, purposefully stopping all motion. He watched as her brows furrowed, her singular eye fluttering open, confusion and irritation evident in the amber orb.

“Franken?” she asked, raising a brow, and he only shifted his smile into a twisted smirk.

“Marie? Don’t we need to be at school, soon?” he threw back, echoing her morning greeting. Instead of huffing, as he expected her to, Marie brought one of her sinfully soft legs up to drag against his outer thigh, hitching it higher and higher until her foot pressed into his lower back and she tugged him closer to her, grinning.

“Ten more minutes,” she bargained, her voice lowering slightly as she kissed him on the nose, running her hands over his body, drumming her fingers against his ribcage and then down down down until she grabbed his ass, grinding against him.

He groaned, tilting his head to meet her at a better angle. “Call off,” he insisted once more.

When she kissed him, biting at his lower lip, he assumed that this time she agreed.


	2. Kiss (Naked)

He caught himself hard against his palms as he stumbled from the doorway, and Marie let loose the softest squeak as her back hit the wall. Stein had managed not to collide with her, and he swore that the house could have rattled from how hard he had slammed, though it was most certainly the thunder. But regardless of what had been the cause, Marie didn’t seem to mind. Instead, she was focused with tugging aside the wet material of his shirt, standing on tiptoes to throw his collar open. The air was freezing against his skin, still wet from the rain, but Marie managed to toss his shirt to the side even as it clung to his skin, and it made a heavy sound when it landed in the corner.

He let his head fall back as she scrunched down, her hands frantically working at his pants, undoing the buckle and tugging, a frustrated sound seeming to echo through the otherwise empty lab when she couldn’t remove them fast enough. Stein chuckled, his palms roving over the dripping material of her skirt, sliding down her zipper just as she managed to push his pants down to his ankles. He felt almost clumsy as he yanked at the material of her skirt, trying to simultaneously get out of his pants and shoes. Marie kissed over his chest, her lips trailing over the scar that extended diagonally across his torso as he struggled, and she seemed to get a kick out of his dilemma, because she giggled softly as she shimmied out of her own clothes, giving him the opportunity to finally kick out of his pants.

Marie’s fingers were already working at the material of her shirt, but he scrunched the fabric up so he could grasp her around the waist, bringing her up suddenly so he could kiss her. She gasped, immediately clutching onto him for leverage, her legs wrapping around as he settled her against the wall, nipping at her lower lip. He only pulled away when she looped her shirt over her head, throwing her arms around his neck when it fell to the floor.

Connecting their mouths once more, he pressed one hand to her lower back, anchoring her as he moved from the wall, making his way to their room, instead. It wasn’t as though the act of it was difficult; Marie was barely four foot eight, she weighed one hundred pounds soaking wet, as she was now, so it was near effortless to support her with only one arm, the other roving over her side, desperate to catch more of her skin. He barely had to focus on not falling, his hand cupping her ass as he took the stairs two at a time. With each movement, she bounced against him, disconnecting their mouths so she could pant in his ear. He gave her backside a firm squeeze when he feelt her lips working over his neck. She wrapped her legs around him tighter, wriggling up so she could kiss his shoulder, pressing her cheek against him as he stroked down her spine.

When he finally made his way to the top floor of the lab, he almost careened into the wall, and he had to release his hold on her waist to catch himself once more, unwilling to see Marie take the brunt of yet another stumble. But she didn’t even flinch, trusting him completely, only sucking at the skin beneath his jaw, her teeth gently grazing. The low, throaty moan he gave off as she did so encouraged her to run her nails over his back, and he arched to her, barely keeping focus to bring them into their room.

How he managed to walk to the bed without falling flat on his face was a miracle, because the place was a mess on a good day, let alone when the power had cut out and he had only the faint, golden glow of Marie’s skin to guide him, but he managed to set her down on the bed, the two of them bouncing slightly as he settled on his knees.

He bit his lip as he looked down at her, watching the way her chest heaved. Slowly, he let his fingers come to her ribcage, feeling how she was breathing, and she fluttered her eye shut at his touch, arching to him. The scrap of smile on his face stretched as he dragged his touch down, memorizing the soft way she said “Franken,” the line of her body as she melted to him. He came to her hips, fingertips breaching the line of her panties, and he hunched over, giving an open mouthed kiss to her navel.

“Can I?” he asked, tugging slightly as he trailed his mouth down, breathing warm air on her skin. He let his gaze flick up, taking in how she nodded, still keeping her eyes closed as she basked in what he was doing to her, but he only smirked, sucking at the flesh of her belly, leaving a darkening mark as she cried out. “Hmm? Marie?”

“Yes!” she panted out, one arm stretching over her head to grab the headboard as leverage, the other coming to his hair as she urged him on. She wriggled her hips around and he finally dragged the soft material of her panties down, pulling away from her as he did so he could take them off of her. The fabric dragged over her soft, wet thighs, whispering against the nylon of her stockings when they reached her knees.

He settled back, tossing the material to the side as he grasped the top of her thigh highs, one of his hands holding her leg under the knee as he tugged the cloth off, fisting the material as he looped it off her foot. As he did the same to the other leg, her eye fluttered open, the warm amber barely noticeable from how blown wide her pupil was. Stein watched as Marie worried her lip between her teeth, swallowing as he stroked over her legs, moving on to the other. As soon as her second stocking was off, discarded somewhere in the room, he locked his gaze with hers, cupping her heel as he brought his lips to the side of her ankle, kissing her delicately.

She whimpered when he did, grasping the sheets, and he noted how her chest was rising and falling more rapidly. He hid his smile by kissing his way to her calf, letting his other hand run up her outer thigh. Marie spread her legs for him as he came closer to the apex, his chapped lips grazing her creamy skin. She was eager, it seemed, because he could see how she was puffy and pink, no doubt slick for him.

Finally, he allowed both hands to come to her hips, straining his eyes to continue looking up at her. She breathed his name, arching up, but he only kissed one hipbone, then the other, as he continued mouth marking her to the sternum. She writhed beneath him, tipping her head back as he came to her bra, nuzzling between her breasts even as his hands wormed under her, unclasping her in one swift click.

He shivered when she ran her silky legs against his, catching the waistband of his boxers and dragging them down. Quickly, he pulled away from her, both his eyebrows up as he stared at her smug grin.

“What?” she started, something sparkling in her eye, “It’s hardly fair I’m naked and you’re not,” she commented, using her feet to bring his underwear to his knees. The chuckle that bubbled out of him was muffled when he kissed beneath her jaw, trailing a line to where her jugular was. He kicked his boxers off, barely able to hear how they made a thick plop against whatever they landed on. He was too busy removing Marie’s bra, looping the straps off of her arms and pressing himself close to her body the second they were both bare.

For a moment, he just felt the thump of her heartbeat against his tongue, and Marie’s arms came around him, one hand tangling in his wet hair as she made quiet, pleased sounds whenever he sucked on her pulse. He knew she could feel the the hard line of him against her hip, and it felt like her hands didn’t know where to rest, since he felt her palms stroking over his arms, against his shoulders, to his back, roving around to his ribcage.

Finally, when she settled her touch on his chest, right where his heart would be, she hummed happily.

“It’s beating so hard. . .” she said, her voice thin and breathy from his ministrations, her other hand stroking his hair, and at that, he pulled away from her, looking at the hickey that was blooming over her skin. She smiled at him, though it could very well be a smirk as her manicured fingers tapped against his chest. “Do I still make you nervous?” she asked, blinking up at him.

He made an amused sound deep in his throat, gently cupping her left breast and rolling it around, thumbing her nipples. She inhaled in, arching up to his touch, but he carefully moved his hold so that he could press his hand slightly above, able to feel her own heart thumping.

“Do _I_?” he asked, nuzzling behind her ear as he inhaled in the scent of rain and her shampoo. Marie was both the calm before and after the storm, and the storm itself. She always carried the smell of rain about her. Perhaps it was a result of living in Oceania for so long, or maybe it was just her lightning soul naturally enhancing her scent, but he found it calming, grounding. And yet, he couldn’t deny that he was nervous, a bit. It was strange to explain, feeling so comfortable with another person, with her, and yet always feeling some kind of fizzy emotion in his stomach, regardless.

Gently, Marie let her touch over his chest drop so she could settle her hand over his, grasping his wrist and bringing it up to her mouth. He hovered over her so he could watch what she was doing, his eyes half-lidding when he saw, felt, her bring his palm to her cheek. She leaned into the touch before she turned her head, kissing each of his fingers, nuzzling into his grasp.

“Yeah. . .” she told him, and he grinned down at her, feeling oddly relieved that he could still make her heartrate skyrocket even after all the time they’d spent together.

Slowly, he shifted his hold so he could hitch beneath her eyepatch, sliding it off her face, and with that, they were both completely bare. Nowhere to hide, nothing to hide behind. Marie inhaled in sharply, bringing both her hands to his sides, feeling the scar tissue that was so characteristic over all of him just as he traced over the scar she had, the jagged lines over her depressed eyelid.

He felt her soul flutter against his and he gently pushed his own to hers as though in reassurance. It was silly of her, as it always had been, to feel so concerned over his reaction to what was beneath her patch. He had seen it a million times, seen worse, but he still lowered his mouth so he could kiss over her eyelid, still cupping her cheek with one hand. She breathed out in relief, stroking down his spine, and he found that something inside of his chest swelled, some welling of emotions he would never be able to understand that inspired him to kiss the eyelid of her perfectly functional eye, too. Then, her forehead, trailing down to her nose.

Her giggle was sweet and bubbly, relaxed and reassured as he kissed over her cheeks, from one ear to the other, dragging his touch so he was cupping her jaw instead of her cheek, and he purposefully skipped over her lips to kiss her chin, first.

Finally, when he was certain that he had pressed his lips to every inch of her face, he moved away, maybe an inch or two, so he could look her in the eye. Her soul was thrumming in joy, and he finally realized that she was glowing even brighter, her wavelength making her skin flush gold, and he bumped his nose against hers at the fact.

After a beat, when her touch came to his damp hair once more, he lowered himself until their lips were barely brushing, and her breath tasted sweet, likely from the tea she had before they’d gone into the downpour. He held himself like that for a moment, seemingly too long, because Marie made an affectionately exasperated sound.

“Are you going to kiss me?” she asked, and there was no mistaking the breathiness in her voice as her free hand rubbed his side. He hummed, knowing she could feel the sound reverberate against her since they were pressed so close.

“I’m still deciding,” he replied, his stitches stretching from his smirk. Marie made a noise somewhere between a scoff and a chuckle, bumping their noses once more. It took a special kind of person to put up with him, he knew, and he was ever-grateful Marie was that kind of person. He nuzzled against her, rubbing his thumb over her lower lip as she clutched him to her, nothing but the sound of the storm and their mingling breaths in his ears, nothing but her in his world. Her warm wavelength, her heated skin, her tender body, her breathy, high voice.

“Can I kiss _you_ , then?” she asked, and he hummed once more as though debating, letting his eyes shut as he moved to close the final few spaces between them. Marie tipped her chin up, meeting him halfway as she giggled, and he sucked at her cupid’s bow, holding her face in one hand as he tangled the fingers of the other in her sopping wet hair. Slowly, as his tongue slipped against her lips, he felt her smile stretch, and she opened her mouth to him, accepting him inside eagerly.


	3. First Time

The world seems to stop for a few days as the DWMA gets fixed, as Death City reconstructs and heals, as her students heal.

She feels useless.

She knows it’s irrational, is irritated at herself for feeling that way, but she feels it, all the same. Rachel is returned to her parents, her medical exam coming back clean of any dubious activity that would churn Marie’s stomach, Azusa has gotten her notice to return to her station in Asia.

And Marie is stuck in limbo.

She is on the middle of a teeter and she doesn’t know where she’s going to step. All she knows is that Maka is in the infirmary, Crona is awaiting trial, again, Death has had a chunk ripped away from him, Spirit is in bandages from head to hips, and all her students had been in the ICU for at least two days as they recovered.

And she couldn’t do _anything_.

Her healing wavelength could only help emotionally, not physically. Physical healing was left up to Stein, who hadn’t eaten or slept while he had been with Medusa, who likely hadn’t eaten or slept while he worked at the hospital, healing the children, who had circles under his eyes so dark he looked hollow.

She had barely seen him since they came back to the DWMA, since she ran off on a shard of hope that he was still in a place where he could be found.

She could have died, trying to find him.

She almost did.

Marie feels her bones and her skin and her very brain ache with the phantom residue of Stein’s Soul Menace. The bruises down her spine and the back of her arms and legs are a sickly purple color, the edges shifting into green, into yellow. The pillar had rattled her head around so bad, she thinks the concussion lasted for four days. Her mouth still tasted sour.

She thinks it’s a good thing they hadn’t seen each other for a while. She didn’t want him to see her so wrecked. It was easy enough to hide it when he was concerned over other things, when he was focused on getting Crona proper medical attention, when the Kishin was looming. She could pretend that she wasn’t fractured and wounded all over from fighting him.

He would never forgive himself if he knew.

Would he?

She didn’t know how he would react if he found out that he had thrown her six feet into solid rock. She doesn’t want to find out. No, definitely better that he was in the dark to her condition, treating their…his students, administering morphine and checking wounds more severe than her own.

When they had first walked to the infirmary with Rachel and Crona, with the sacrificial lambs slung over their shoulders, walking back from the Snake Woman, he had asked if she had any untreated wounds.

She hadn’t said anything, only spared having to by Crona’s weak cough, and that had been the end of the conversation.

In fact, it had marked the end of most conversation that wasn’t about other people’s wounds and fights and pieces that would have to be picked up, later.

Stein didn’t know she quit the DWMA.

Or maybe he did. Maybe he had always known. Maybe he thought she was stupid for quitting. Maybe that was why he wouldn’t talk to her.

Death, the lab felt so empty without him.

She hated spending time there when he was gone. Sometimes, she woke up in the middle of the night with her heart in her throat, afraid he was gone, again, and when her soul reached out for his, he was never there.

That was always the most bitter. She had to remind herself that he was at the hospital, that he was winning himself back into the good graces of the DWMA, that he was proving he was fit to teach.

The madness wavelength was eradicated. Medusa was gone, scattered like ash in the wind.

Marie’s job was done.

She had done it well, she thinks. Done it too well.

She doesn’t want to leave. She knew the lab more intimately than she knew her apartment back in Oceania, where she had left multiple picture-frames, her beat up coffee table, the boy who always told her she looked lovely when she was getting tea.

She doesn’t want to leave but she has to. She can’t live in limbo, unknowing of what to do. She needs security. She needs to be in a place where she is wanted.

Stein didn’t need her. She knew that from the beginning.

She didn’t know if he wanted her there, either.

* * *

Weeks later, after she has put in her Death Scythe application and packed up her bags in a lab Stein hadn’t stepped foot in since he ran away to Medusa, she finally sees him as she is walking out of the Death Room and he is walking to it.

It aches. It aches to look at him, tired and unkempt, but definitely accomplished. Maka’s ribs had healed and he had stitched up all her wounds with no scarring. At least, that’s what she hears from Soul, who visited Maka every day, who only bumped into Marie while he was on his way to see Maka, again. That was what she heard from all her students…ex-students, who had survived because Stein had hands that could heal anyone.

Her Meister, the genius.

Ex-Meister.

He must have known she was leaving, again because he had the same look on his face as he did years ago, when they were partners for the first time, 16 and 17 respectfully, after she consumed the Witch’s Soul they got together after 99 other souls that padded her hips. The same look after he helped develop Izuna, after he drew the arrows on the floor of the lab. After she became a Death Scythe and got her station and was told she was ready to go for Oceania.

She hadn’t known what to say to him, back then. She didn’t know what to say to him, now. Last time, he’d let her leave without a goodbye. Last time, she’d gone to the airport alone, cried in her seat, off to a distant country without even a hug or a touch on her shoulder.

She refuses to cry, this time. She was a grown woman and he owed her nothing and she expected nothing from him. She went after him, walking deserts and worlds to find him of her own volition.

But when he opens his mouth, she can’t help but be hopeful that he will ask her to stay. For once in his life, she wants him to tell her something blatantly, without her having to decipher it.

All he says is her name.

And she just smiles, and she knows it looks thin.

“Welcome to the world of the living,” she jokes, feeling like she is forcing cheer into the air.

His lips twitch up for a single moment, but she knows it’s just to humor her.

“Is…ah, is everyone…okay?” she asks, instead. Anything to cut the silence.

Anything to shift attention.

“Healed enough to go to their respective homes,” he tells her, his hands holding various files, the fingers drumming on the paper, slightly.

“And you?” she asks, concerned.

He seems to appreciate that.

“Healed enough to go to the lab, as well.”

This time, she’s the one to quirk the smile for his benefit.

“Well, the lab misses you.”

She did, too.

He looked at her oddly, as though glancing through her, trying to read her, and she notices that he’s looking at her soul. The peek isn’t surprising, but she looked up at him and quirked a brow.

He at least had the decency to meet her gaze. “Ah, sorry,” he said, though he didn’t sound it, and this time, she thinks there was something sad on her face.

Sad in her bones.

“It’s okay,” she replied, chewing her cheek for a moment, “I don’t mind.”

He nodded at her, putting his free hand into his labcoat pocket, and she could only look at him for a few moments, blinking rapidly.

Death, couldn’t he just _talk_ to her? Ask her something? Ask her _anything_? She had tried visiting him but he had been running around with Nygus in their attempts at healing the students, neither of them free every time she tried.

If she waited any longer to talk, she would just start saying things she didn’t want to blurt out.

“You must need to see Death,” she said, the assumption ringing in the air. Why else would he be in the hallway if not for a medical report? He looked at her, his eyes tracing over every feature of her face as he slowly nodded.

“Yes.”

“Ah, I won’t keep you, then,” she told him, smiling sadly and starting to walk. “Besides…my flight is tomorrow and I should really get some sleep.”

As she walked past him, she could envision what could happen if she were in a movie. He would reach for her shoulder and whirl her around and she would look at the face of the man she had once loved in middle school and loved again as a grown woman. He would tuck her hair behind her ear and tell her to stay. He would kiss her, tell her he was sorry for all the grief she went through.

If it were a movie, she would gasp as he turned her, would grab his upper arms. She would melt to him. She would wrap an arm around his neck and hold him to her like she never wanted him to go.

They didn’t do any of those things. Because it wasn’t a movie; it was her life. And life was never so wonderful as dreams could be.

As she walked by him, their arms brushed, and she could feel something like hesitancy from him. As though he were ready to say something, or do something.

“Marie,” he began, and she whirled around so fast she thought she got whiplash. The breath in her body compressed, her heart beating hard.

For once she just wanted to be the girl who got her happy ending. Just once. She wanted the movie. She wanted to believe, to hope.

“Sorry for keeping you,” he said, instead, and she thinks he wanted to say something else, but he didn’t.

He didn’t.

Because she wasn’t the girl with the happy ending. Not then. She was always the bridesmaid and never the bride.

Her voice was small when she told him, “It’s okay,” and she turned back around, walking to the exit where nothing waited for her but bags she would carry to a different continent. “I don’t mind.”

She was lying and he knew it.

But he said nothing nothing nothing.

* * *

She thinks it’s the middle of the night when he wakes her, and she’s probably a mess, with her hair in her tear-stained face and her sleeping shirt slipping off her shoulders. She had been sleeping in his bed for the past few days, just wanting to feel close to him in some way, even if it was artificial. He so rarely slept in a bed, so rarely left his computer, but the pillows smelled of him: antiseptic and clean soap and cigarette smoke.

But she is a Death Scythe and when she feels a touch on her shoulder, she cannot help but wake up despite how lulled and calm she is by the scent of the sheets.

A shame, too. She had barely gotten to sleep.

Were she anyone else and were he anyone else, seeing him right in her face would startle her so bad she’d scream, but as soon as her mind realized it was Stein, she was put at ease. She had an instinctive positive reaction to him.

She knows her body does, her soul. He had flared his up so as not to startle her, but she is still tired and her voice slurs when she talks.

“Stein?” she asks, rubbing at her eye, thankful that her eyepatch was still left on. She was usually better with removing it for sleep, but, over the years, it was just such a constant that she often forgot she was wearing it. All the better, she thought, since he wouldn’t have to see the scar over the depressed eyelid that marked where she is missing an eye. With her only remaining eye, she looks over at him, taking in his expression in the dim light. He has a peculiar look on his face, one that seems both observant and…gentle. He still looks tired, but something has set in his eyes.

“Stein?” she repeats, this time more clearly, and she finally notes that his hand didn’t leave her shoulder.

“You’re in my bed,” he replied simply, and she feels some part of her blush in mild embarrassment. But the majority of her was irritated at the lack of sleep, annoyed that it was one of the first things he was saying to her.

She huffs. “I hope you didn’t wake me up for  _that_ …my flight is in-” she takes a peek at the alarm clock she dragged in, yawning.

“Five hours, twenty-three minutes,” he informs her, and she’s shocked that he knows, immediately looking back at him, feeling the confusion bubble inside of her.

“…yeah.”

“Death told me,” he said, answering the question she hadn’t vocalized.

“Oh,” she answers, feeling fidgety. He’s still looming over her and she’s still lying down and she can’t help but feel her heart start to thump a little harder. “Yeah…sorry. I just…I packed all my things up so I needed to sleep somewhere.”

“It’s okay,” he said, and she was jolted by the fact that her own words were being thrown at her, what she had told him at the DWMA when she walked away. “I don’t mind.”

She looked away. “I didn’t think you’d be home.”

He didn’t say anything, but he still had his palm on her shoulder and she thinks if he stopped touching her, she’d be cold.

“I am.” He waited a moment, the world narrowing to just them as he lowered his voice. “Thank you.”

At that, her eyebrows went up. Franken Stein, THE Doctor Franken Stein, thanking someone? It must have been a miracle. But when she looked back at him, she knew it wasn’t thanks for her general concern.

She went through hell and back, finding him, but she did it of her own volition. He had never asked her to do so, no one had. He didn’t have to thank her. Still, it was nice to feel appreciated, nice to know that he cared enough to put himself out of his comfort zone to make her feel appreciated.

This time, she didn’t tell him it was okay.

“You’re welcome,” she said, instead, and he nodded.

It still didn’t explain why he woke her, though, why he dodging her initial question.

She blinked up at him, waiting a few moments to say something. The chuckle that bubbled from her was nervous and she didn’t know why.

“Well…I guess I could go to the couch or something. You must be really tired.”

“No, no need,” he told her, and if she didn’t know any better, she could swear he was leaning in closer to her.

“Of course there’s a need,” she threw back. “You’ve been out for weeks. And I leave in the morning, so I need to go to bed.”

His eyes flashed in something akin to pain at the mention of her departure, and she almost reared back from how unguarded it was.

Had she hurt him? How? What had she done?

“Yes,” he said, though it didn’t seem like he was agreeing with her. And, if he was, she didn’t know what he was agreeing, to. “Yeah, yes, of course,” he continued, and his clumsy speech made her brows furrow and her heart throb.

“Stein?”

“I can occupy the couch,” he said, lifting his palm from her shoulder for the first time since he came in.

Death, she felt so stupid when she just wanted him to touch her again.

“But I’m in your bed! That isn’t very fair.”

He only shook his head, and through the dim lighting, she saw him walk away and hesitate at the door. She was tempted to huff again at how stubborn he was being, but she only watched as he stopped in the doorframe.

“Stein?” she asked, tired of his hesitation, the mystery.

“…The key is under the mat…if you ever return.”

Her breath hitched in her throat.

Not only because he’d keep the WELCOME mat she dragged to the lab, the one he said he hated, but the fact that he was anticipating a return.

She always felt like she had to decipher him, and she exhaled shakily.

“You’ll…welcome me back, later?”

He turned around, his side twisting so he could look at her, and she sat up in his bed, looking at him with a wide eye. He seemed to chew over the phrase, and after a few moments, a piece of her sunk. Of course he was just saying it to offer pleasantries. Who did she think she was? What did she want to happe-

“I welcome you, now.”

Her heart stopped.

Oh.

_Oh._

Why didn’t he just say so from the beginning? It could have saved her a lot of grief.

“…you…” 

He was looking away from her, appearing awkward and every bit like the boy she had once known, before he grew into a myth of a man. It hit her once more that even  _he_  had trouble talking to people, talking to her. Even he could be scared.

Even he could be nervous.

He was just human. Just an awkward man looking for direction just like everyone else.

“You want me to stay,” she breathed, and she almost didn’t believe it, but he looked back at her and there was a vulnerability on his face, the same that she had seen when she appeared in his soul, holding her hand out to him.

“What I want is irrelevant-”

“Bullshit,” she said, quietly. How could he not know that the only reason she was leaving was because she didn’t know if he wanted her there? Didn’t he understand how deeply she wanted to stay? How much she wanted to just _be_ with him? But she couldn’t if she didn’t have security, if she wasn’t sure.

“Do you want me to stay?” she asked. She was tired of tiptoeing, she was sick of having to analyze everything he said, and she threw the covers off of herself, standing up though her bare legs wobbled, and she was glad that she had healed enough that he wouldn’t notice the bruises she’d gained from being thrown into the pillar.

He seemed to shrink for a moment, but being 6 foot 10, there wasn’t much to make him smaller, and she stepped forward until she was in front of him. Maybe she was being dramatic. Maybe she was being silly. But she would unpack every bag she’d packed and rip up her plane ticket if he just told her he wanted her.

“Stein,” she said, ducking close to him so she could look into his eyes, and a piece of her wondered if she was being too pushy, too forceful. 

She didn’t care.

“…Do you want me to stay?”

He looked down at her, taking in a deep breath. “Do you?”

“Yes,” she replied, not a trace of bashfulness evident in her voice. Either she put it all on the table or she regretted it for the rest of her life. In the worst case, he would find her horrific and she could retreat to Oceania and never see him again.

The outcome ached inside of her and she bit her lip, barreling on. “Yeah…I wanna stay. If you want me to.”

If you want me, too.

The nod he gave was slow, a nod of understanding, she thinks. He had always had a hard time talking to others if it wasn’t medical jargon or pranks, so she didn’t blame him. But she just needed an answer. Any answer. A ‘yes’. A ‘no’. A ‘get out’.

She sighed, feeling drained, and weary, and so damn tired.

“But if you don’t want me to, if you don’t mind, I need to sleep. My flight leaves soon and I don’t want to be jet lagged.”

Her voice sounded dead even to her own ears, but at that, she whirled back around, feeling silly and foolish, and so very, very exposed. She swallowed hard as she grabbed up her covers, the one thing she hadn’t put away that she kept on his bed, and only when she heard the door click shut did she let her head hang forward, blinking back wetness from her eye.

_Good going_ , she thought. Every ex-boyfriend she always had told her she came on too strong and there she was, coming on too strong.

She wasn’t ready for his hand on her shoulder, and she gasped, whirling around and almost falling back onto the bed when he was stooped to her eye level. He steadied her, making sure she wouldn’t wobble backward, and all he said was: “Yes.”

It took her a moment to understand that he was answering her question.

She could only understand when he leaned forward, his hand moving from her shoulder to her neck, and she thinks everywhere he touched her goosefleshed, her body yearning for him to hold her.

“Stein?” she breathed out, and she was so damn hopeful. He could break her if he wasn’t careful, right there.

Because he was so close to her face, she thinks if she still had both eyes, she’d go cross eyed.

When all he answered her with was her name, low and warm and wanting, both her hands came to his chest as she leaned to him.

The room was dark. It was the middle of the night. But she could still see him take in a shaky breath.

“Marie…do you want me to-”

Yes. Yes, she damn well did.

And she was sick of waiting.

One of her palms came up from his chest to cup the back of his head, and she stood up on tiptoes, bringing their faces together and cutting him off mid-sentence.

And for a moment, he didn’t do anything, and the world was frozen in place.

He shattered it when his free arm wrapped around her, around her shoulders, pressing her closer and breathing hard through his nose as he kissed her back.

His lips were chapped, his hold on her firm, and when he opened his mouth to her, he groaned from somewhere in his throat and her legs felt weak at the sound. She didn’t know how long they stayed like that, with him hunched over to accommodate for her far smaller form, his hand stroking down her back, his lips warm and welcoming on her own, but when she pulled away, she thinks it wasn’t long enough.

Breathing hard, she pressed their foreheads together.

“Yeah,” she said, bumping their noses. “Yeah, I want you to-”

This time, when he tilted his head and kissed her, the back of her legs hit the edge of the bed, and when she fell back to the mattress, he didn’t steady her to keep her upright, only following her and catching himself on his palms. Marie gasped, and it gave him ample opportunity to slide his tongue along her lower lip, feeling her heat up beneath him. The temperature of the entire room seemed to rise as he traced over her teeth, exploring her mouth meticulously and Marie moaned softly, pursing her lips and sucking on his tongue.

Stein’s hips bucked against her, and she almost felt dazed, her mind hazy as he shifted. She felt his hand in her hair, the fingers looping through her mess golden strands, and she grasped onto the back of his shirt for some kind of leverage.

It couldn’t be happening. She could barely believe it. Part of her was entirely convinced that it was a dream, a fantasy, the likes of which she had as a girl when she couldn’t even dare to hope that he would reciprocate her feelings. So she kept her eyes shut as he groaned his pleasure, and, slowly, he settled on his knees, his hands coming to her sides with a meticulous slowness that he saved only for the most delicate and confusing of experiments.

But Marie was no experiment; Marie was warm and responsive and alive.

And she could feel how his heart was nervously fluttering. The giddiness started to overwhelm her. Franken Stein was kissing her. _Franken Stein_ was kissing _her_. On his bed, no less, in his lab, while she was in nothing but a thin sleeping shirt. The air felt thick as she took a deep breath in through her nose, tilting her head to kiss him harder, and her hands ran over his arms, stroking softly as he seemed to pour every emotion he claimed not to have into the kiss.

When his hands came to her hips, she opened her mouth to him, grinding against the leg he had between her own, and he dragged his touch upward, shoving her shirt with the motions, exposing her. The kiss was fierce, heated. She didn’t think she ever wanted to stop kissing him. She would breathe him in until it was the only air she knew; even if that air was stale as cigarette smoke, even if he smelled of sterilizing solution and hospitals, she would suck it all down.

It was all intensifying so fast, her head was spinning. But she liked it, wanted it, had wanted it for such a long time. And as his nails softly came over her sides, she squirmed slightly, smiling against his mouth.

* * *

Marie had barely even touched him, yet, but he already felt like he was spiraling out of his skin, hurtling toward an abyss that threatened to swallow him whole. Marie was warm. She tasted like tea, like her strawberry toothpaste. She was plush and soft and pliant beneath him and he didn’t know what to do. He felt her skin beneath his palms and felt like his body was tingling.

For a brief moment, his reaction frustrated him: he had felt flesh before. Flesh just as soft as her own, flesh just as warm, ready for a scalpel, but he didn’t want to dissect her. The very idea of it made his spine shudder unpleasantly, a strange contrast to the building heat in his body at being allowed to touch her. Because that frustration couldn’t last while he kissed her, while he let his curious hands rove over her, while _she_ let his curious hands touch her.

The confusion was still there, somewhat, but it was in the back of his head. Asking why, if he had experienced all these motions, before, all the actions, was it so different this time?

Because it was Marie, he knew. Marie who came for him, Marie who trusted him, Marie who let his usually capable hands go clumsy as he lifted the hem of her shirt, scrunching the fabric underneath her breasts as he traced over the curve of her waist, fingertips drumming over her ribcage. When she squirmed in reaction, he kept drumming, licking at her lower lip and breathing hard through his nose.

He only broke away when Marie did, letting loose a small giggle, and he looked down at her, focusing once more. He was too in his head, locked away in his thoughts, that he hadn’t even noticed the way her smile seemed to bloom over her face.

For a brief moment, he wondered if she was laughing at him, and he felt his ears heat up. But as he paid more attention, eyes tracing over her body, he noted that she only squirmed when he traced over her side, and he lifted a brow, a smirk stretching his facial stitches.

Ah, that was an interesting reaction. Slowly, he removed his hands, only tracing one finger down her side and then back up, barely even touching her. But she giggled once more, fidgeting beneath him and his grin spread over his face. It was too relieving, to go from the dreary, heavy emotions he’d been coping with for too long, listening in to her joy. It had been such a long time since Patchwork Labs heard such genuine laughter.

“Are you ticklish, Marie?” he asked, continuing to stroke her side as she squirmed, her laughter getting louder.

“N-no, I’m-“ she broke off to squeal, since he had gently pinched her side, now fully taking advantage of how sensitive she was, and she took in fast gasps of air between her peals of laughter .“Not ticklish!” she finished, her hands coming up to his shoulders and gently pushing him.

“F-Franken!” she choked out, but the pressure against his shoulders was light. He knew if she genuinely wanted him off of her, she would have thrown him against a wall. And something about that thought, how vulnerable and open she was with him in that moment, and how strong and powerful she was in general, made his temperature rise.

He didn’t know when his smirk had turned into a smile, morphing so genuinely and honestly that he was caught off guard, but he was charmed by her. He had been charmed by her for a long while, unable to admit it to himself, unable to understand it. There was so much he didn’t understand, so much he thinks he was finally starting to piece together.

But, at the moment, he didn’t want to dissect things and click puzzle pieces in a coherent pattern. She had kissed him back, she had laughed because of him, found joy because of him.

She had come for him, walking deserts and miles and worlds, despite not having any direction. He had heard from Death that she had quit the DWMA to find him. No one had ever cared so much for him, before. Arguably, no one did, now. But that didn’t matter. What mattered was that he had her beneath him, on his bed, her yellow comforter a halo around her entire body as she sunk into the mattress, and he got to look down at her. He couldn’t deny it, how he felt when he saw her so happy, a flush settling over her face. As his ministrations let up, the tickling winding down, leaving her chest heaving and her breathing heavy, he knew he wanted to see her flushed for a different reason.

He blamed the serotonin spike, the endorphins, when he bent over, kissing the corner of her mouth as he scrunched her shirt up even higher. Marie hummed happily, arching to him and throwing an arm around his neck to tug him closer to her. This time, he opened his mouth to her, letting her explore the taste of him. He regretted having a cigarette before going to see her, but his nerves were jumping as hard as his heart was, and a quick smoke would calm him, prepare him for seeing her.

The thought of her leaving had left him feeling heavy and jittery, and he had known that she would. It was why he avoided her, throwing himself into healing injuries and writing up reports. But the entire time, he was haunted by the image of her bare, golden, glowing, her hand extended. She wasn’t salvation but she had looked just as inviting, had come for him when no one else would. This woman who was so small, able to crush mountains to rubble, able to soothe negativity, able to bring his heart to the point of cardiac arrhythmia. As a child, when he was around her, he had simply assumed he had a heart murmur. He had ignored the fact that it only stuttered around her.

Now, as an adult, he knew that heart rate fumbled in times of high emotional situations. Fear, fury, joy. Arousal.

He groaned against her as she brought her hand between them, and he felt the back of her hand brush over his chest as she, no doubt, unbuttoned her own blouse. His heart skipped another beat, the permission in her actions, the implications, making him feel like he was going to swallow his own tongue. He had never thought he would be in such a position, when she was smiling against him, her soul thrumming so happily, he didn’t even need to have perception to feel it. Marie bathed everything in a warm, gentle glow. She made him feel relaxed, and yet, the coil in his belly as her tongue slowly slid over his was undeniable.

Stein assumed she had finished unbuttoning her shirt because she had moved on to his, her fingers hitching at the hem of his sweater. He was glad she was bold: he didn’t know if he would have the nerve.

He’d never had sex, engaged in coitus, “made love” before, the phrase making him cringe. Honestly, he didn’t believe that he could: make love, that was. Not that he couldn’t have sex: he had the parts, knew the motions, memorized the anatomy down to a dry, simple science. But he didn’t understand love, couldn’t understand it, and, before, he hadn’t necessarily wanted to. Sometimes, the thought of trying it, perhaps to understand what it felt like, why Spirit was so obsessed, seemingly only ever having one thing on his mind, why the entirety of the adult population seemed to enjoy it, flit through his mind. But not for the sake of simple pleasure.

He had thought it empty, frivolous.

There was nothing empty about it, now. In fact, he felt like there was too much going on. The farthest thing from empty, he felt like was going to pop.

At least there were no buttons to deal with in regards to his shirt: he didn’t have to think to know how to remove it, and he, almost regretfully, pulled away from her to loop the material up his body until he could throw it to the side, exposing his scarred torso to her.

But any thoughts of himself left his head as he looked down at Marie. Her oversized sleeping shirt was open, revealing more of her golden skin, but he focused decidedly more upward, namely taking note of the fact that she wore no bra to bed.

The heat that had pooled beneath his skin seemed to intensify. Of course she didn’t wear a bra to bed: why would she? She was going to sleep, and from what he had seen, the metal underwire did not a comfortable experience make, so it was rational that she would have retired to bed with nothing but a pair of plain black panties beneath her top. It seemed he was beyond rational thinking, or, at least, the calculated thinking that made his mind run a mile a minute. She just made everything in his head so quiet.

He had grown so, so sick of noise, of the static.

He swallowed hard, looking at her. The material of her shirt was still covering her breasts, hiding the majority of the flesh from his gaze. He was only privy to her cleavage, and though it was a sight he had seen before, on her, as well, it was the context that made him feel like the air was suddenly thicker. Marie looked up at him, slowly coming to one of her elbows, and the material fell away even farther.

He didn’t have the time to hide how sharply he inhaled, seeing the cloth open and slide down her arms. She was so slender and the top was so oversized that it pooled down to her elbow immediately, and he saw the way the cold air made her nipples pucker.

Or, perhaps, it wasn’t the cold air, at all. Slowly, as though afraid she would startle him, she reached out and he nearly jolted at the feeling of her soft fingers trailing down his inner arm until she got to his wrist. As she felt at his pulse, which had skyrocketed at the sight of her, she seemed to blush, fidgeting. He must have looked frightened, or off guard, because Marie flinched away for a moment, hunching her shoulders in. His gaze traced over the curves of her, from her navel to her two full, plush breasts, up to the creamy column of her neck and the delicate slope of her jaw. His eyes settled on her lips as they parted, and the sight of them, darkened from their kissing and slightly swollen, caused a shiver of pleasure to him through him.

“Franken?” she asked, and he could have burst at the sight of her lips shaping his name. “Do you…want to?”

He blinked a few times, his mind slowly chugging along behind him. “What?” he asked, only partially understanding the question. He was still too wrapped up in the fact that this was happening. He was too wrapped up in the fact that, even having seen corpses and cadavers and bodies aplenty, something about Marie’s was making the coil in his belly tighten. All his blood was rushing south, and he felt tense, like he was wired too high. Marie bit at her lip, the lips he wanted so badly to kiss again, the lips he wanted to shape his name, and her cheeks pinked further.

“Do you want to?” she repeated, looking like she was ready to pull her shirt around her and hide.

She was so vulnerable. Not always, rarely ever, but in that moment, certainly. He blinked at her, almost incredulously. How could he _not_ want to? How could she not see how much she was affecting him, how the sight of her skin, bared to him without hesitation, had almost instantly made him feel like a spring wound too tightly? He had never understood it, before, never thought he’d have the experience he was having, but there, with her, in the middle of the night, he had never wanted anything more.

“Marie,” he murmured, and his body moved without his permission, hand coming out to cup her cheek. Her hair was messy, loops and strands of gold that flicked over her sunkissed shoulders, that got trapped between his palm and her warm, responsive skin. Marie, instead of flinching from his destructive, ruinous touch, only leaned to him. In fact, her face turned slightly as she kissed his palm, and one of her arms slipped out of her shirt so she could place her hand atop his, pressing him closer. “Oh, Marie,” he said, again, feeling something inside of his chest stutter at the sight of her.

“Well?” she asked against his touch, and he felt her lips move against his skin, wanting to feel them everywhere on him. “Do you?” Just as he opened his mouth to answer, her singular eye fluttered shut, her skin warming against his hold on her. “You don’t have to,” she reassured him. “We can just-“

“Marie,” he said, amusement coloring his voice as his other hand came to cradle her face, thumbs stroking beneath her eye and patch as he leaned over her. “Yes.”

He closed the gap between them, gently cupping her jaw as he connected their mouths, and Marie made a soft, pleased noise against him as he did. The sound was intoxicating enough as it was, something he wanted to hear more of, but aided with the feeling of her as she arched to him, her bare breasts pressing to his chest, made him feel electric. The sparks in the air could have well been imagined, or they could have been the result of her tender, powerful soul coming out to twine with his, and the resonance between them hissed and flickered with how instantaneous it formed.

Stein let one hand drop from her face, instead coming to her shirt and fully tugging it off, tossing it to the side with his own as he settled more fully on his knees and eased her onto her back. Marie went without any resistance, her hands coming to his hips and pulling at his belt as he sucked on her cupid’s bow.

Kissing her was incomparable to anything else. Marie’s lips were responsive to his, the soft intakes of air that she stole in the swift moments they disconnected were sweet and soft. He felt the fluttering of her eyelashes tickle his cheek, the slickness of her tongue as it traced his lipline. And between those moments, those sensations, she had finally managed to undo his belt, and he continued stroking her cheekbone as though in reward. She tugged at the material of his pants, but she forgot to undo the button and pull down the zipper, so she let loose a frustrated noise when the material didn’t go anywhere.

He hummed in amusement, pulling away from her and grinning, no doubt creepily, especially in the dim lighting. When Marie’s gaze locked onto his, however, she didn’t recoil from the horror that was his smile. Instead, she only huffed, pulling at his pants once more as though to tell him to deal with it, and he chuckled deep in his throat as he released his hold on her to undo his button, pulling down the zip and shimmying the cloth off of him. Marie blinked up at him, as though memorizing what he looked like, and the feeling of her soul changed, slightly, as she looked over his body.

He didn’t stop her when her hands came to his chest, when her fingers felt over the scar tissue that made up the majority of his flesh. It was part of him, and he was proud of the wounds, the incision lines, the cuts he wouldn’t let fully close. And, as gruesome as they were, Marie did not flinch. Her soul couldn’t lie to him, and it never showed disgust or contempt. There was no malice. There was, however, a tenderness to her touch as she slowly, as though memorizing, traced down to his hipbones. He had never been touched like that, before: like he was something worth treasuring, something, someone, delicate and worthy of care. As Marie’s hands brushed downward, her palms found the waistband of his boxers, slung low on his body from having been dragged down slightly with his pants.

This time, she didn’t ask if she could take the material off. She knew she could. His soul stroked over her own, encouraging her, showing how eager he was.

Not that she needed to read his soul to know that much, he though wryly. The physical signs of his arousal were evident enough to her, and she brushed over his erection, forcing him to hiss in a breath at the sudden feeling, the sensitivity. Marie’s gaze flicked up to lock on his as she slowly, almost teasingly, pushed his boxers down, being particularly careful not to catch them on anything that was particularly tender at the moment. His hips flexed at the cool air, and he closed his eyes, letting his head fall back.

Marie made a surprised noise when she saw him, and for a moment, the confusion that welled up in him was enough to make his brows furrow.

When he felt her touch, hesitant and gentle and so _fucking good_ on him, he couldn’t help but buck to her hand. Before, when he was trying on himself, it had always been so useless and impotent, but Marie’s touch made him feel electric.

“You have a bolt…here?” she asked, and when he opened his eyes to look at her, she was blinking with her eye wide, her thumb coming over the head of his cock. He groaned, trying not to move his hips for more friction.

“Not a bolt,” he informed, his eyes half-lidded, the desire in him swelling up until his tongue felt thick and his mind heavy. “An apadravya.”

Her soul told him she wasn’t freaked out. More curious and intrigued than anything else, and Marie’s lips parted as she nodded, though he could see that she was more interested in touching him than in hearing technical terms. He dropped his head forward as she stroked over him, one finger tracing the sensitive vein on the underside and he choked, hips stuttering forward.

If she kept doing that, he was going to unravel, and the very thought of doing so before he’d pleased her was too embarrassing to think about. He grabbed her wrist, not tight enough to hurt her, but enough that the surprise in her soul spiked up as he shuffled over her once more, bringing her hand above her head. Carefully, he leaned over and kissed her cheek, trailing to her earlobe. As he nuzzled her, taking in the scent of her shampoo, he worried the skin of her earlobe between his teeth, listening in to her whimper.

His free hand moved down her body, skipping over her breasts entirely as he brought his touch between her thighs, and Marie cried out, the sound so close to his ear that it felt like everything was amplified, louder than it truly was. When he breached the line of her panties, her soft breaths got harder, her body arching against his even as he kept one hand captive, and, slowly, he brought his middle finger between her lips, feeling her dampness.

She was so _wet_ , and he trailed his finger down to her opening, feeling just how slick she was for him. The thought made him groan deeply, the sound no doubt felt by her, since she gasped, wriggling her hips. But he wasn’t ready to slide into her, not yet. The sadistic side of him wanted to bring her to the very edge, first, and his hand pushed against the fabric of her panties as he parted her, fingers feeling for her clit. He knew he found it when he felt the smoothness, and the pleasure spiked so high in her wavelength that it thrummed into his, making his pulse jump, and she bucked against him. As he stroked over her, listening to her wail, he finally began to trail kisses down her body.

Pausing at a moment to suck on her pulse, feeling how hard her heart was beating, he only continued moving down. Over her collarbones and between her breasts. He released his hold on her wrist to, instead, cup her even as his fingers kept moving over her slickness, and Marie arched against him as he ran his thumb over her nipple. She cried out at the action, and he kneaded at her skin, glancing up to see her expression.

Her lips were parted, eye closed as she took in deep, shuddering breaths, her face flushed. He memorized the image, rubbing her slower and watching as she cried out again, her hands flailing around for a moment before one came to the headboard, grasping it hard, and the other found his hair, her fingers tangling. He kissed between her breasts once more, the rotation of his wrist starting to ache, but he didn’t let up, rewarded by the twitch of Marie’s thighs and her gentle calls of his name. As he licked her nipple, taking it in his mouth and sucking, he finally traced his touch between her thighs down to her opening, and he circled her a few times before, slowly, he sunk his middle finger in to the knuckle, making sure to catch the front of her walls.

Her cry was different than before, higher, and she bucked more aggressively against him as he crooked his finger, rubbing at her from the inside. She was chanting his name on a loop, her voice high and breathy, and he could feel the pleasure mounting in her wavelength as he moved from one breast to the other, cupping it before kissing the hardened peak.

When he slid a second finger into her, moving the two together, she bucked, voice high and breathy as a “Please,” slipped out, tatters of his name lining her mouth, and he moved from her breasts, down to her navel, looking up at her as her head moved side to side. His wrist was killing him, the motions, done without rest, making his hand cramp, but he didn’t ease up until her toes were curling and he could feel that she was right there.

As he stopped, hitching the fingers of his free hand beneath the elastic of her panties and tugging them off, sliding his previously occupied fingers out of her at the same time, she swiveling her hips. It wasn’t that he was trying to deny her an orgasm, one she rightfully deserved, it was just that he wanted to be in her when she experienced it. He wanted to feel her body against his as she throbbed and tightened, clenching involuntarily as he brought her to climax, and the thought of it made his breath shallow. He kissed her belly once more before he grasped one of her legs, hitching it around him and brought himself up to her face to kiss her.

His fingers, still slick with her, ran over his cock, and he almost hissed with relief at the feeling. The slickness, the heat, the image of her writhing at what he was doing was too much. He felt like, if he didn’t find his way inside of her, he would simply spiral inside of his own skin until he was lost. Likewise, however, was the thought of being in her. In Marie.

His thumb dabbed at the precum that was dripping out of him, and he would have been embarrassed at how much there was if it weren’t for the fact that Marie had left a wet spot on the sheets. In fact, she had dampened his entire palm with how wet she was, and he stroked himself to distribute the slickness, aligning their hips as he delicately nipped at her lower lip. One of Marie’s hands came to his cheek, cradling him even as her other wrapped around his neck, clutching his body to her. Her leg hitched higher about his waist, the other joining until the heels of her feet were pressing onto his lower back.

As he positioned himself, he finally pulled away from her mouth, looking down at her face with something indescribable swelling in his chest.

She was a sight. Her lips, now more swollen than before, were parted with her panting. Her cheeks were high in color, her amber eye almost black with how blown wide her pupil was. After a beat, his eyebrows furrowed as he took note of the fact that her eyepatch was still on, and with his free hand, he grasped the elastic, hearing her gasp.

“Stein-“

“Can I?” he asked, feeling her soul shudder nervously.

“Stein, it’s…I…”

“Marie?”

“Don’t…it’s…it’s ugly,” she whispered, turning her face away, and this time, his brows furrowed for a different reason. That she thought any part of her could be unappealing made his blood heat up, but he bit his tongue, kissing the corner of her lips once more and using the hand that was at her eyepatch to direct her to face him again.

“Doubtful.”

She sucked in a breath at that, her good eye inspecting his face for any trace of deceit, finding none.

“Franken…”

“You don’t have to,” he told her, echoing her statement from earlier, and the familiarity of it seemed to spark something in her. Though her soul was still nervous, there was something else, trust and faith and comfort, that hummed over it.

“Okay,” she told him, nodding slowly, and he felt his heart stutter as he pulled the patch off, leaving her entirely bare.

When she had come for him, when all was sick with static, when the world was a haze of red and white noise, he had envisioned her like this. Not _exactly_ like this, of course, not beneath him, wet and shuddering and so ready, but bare. But, unlike in that moment, when the manifestation of her soul had come to him, extending her hand, Marie’s physical form was scarred from years of hard battles. And this was no different. The scar tissue was thick over the depressed eyelid, indicating that there was nothing beneath it, and the silvery tendrils spoke of a wound long since healed.

But who was he to judge someone based on their scars? If anything, his attraction to her grew, and he despised whoever, whatever, made her believe it was ugly. He lowered his lips to her eyelid, kissing it without thinking. He found that thinking was becoming overwhelming, had been overwhelming for a while, but he seemed to have done something right, because Marie’s soul swelled, and their resonance sang between them, warm and full.

Marie caressed his jaw, and he felt her smile against him as she tipped her chin up, kissing his cheek. He pulled away from her, looking back down at her face, catching the serene expression. He wonders if his own smile had gotten less sinister, if it was softened by her, softened by her wavelength, because when it spread over his face, she only grinned harder, raising up to kiss him quickly on the lips. With the eyepatch removed, his hand had settled next to her head, and she let her touch on his jaw drop so she could trace over his shoulder, down his arm, until she wormed her hand beneath his, twining their fingers.

“Are you ready?” he asked, voice dropping to a whisper, and her heels dug into his lower back, pushing him forward a few centimeters as she nodded, squeezing his hand as she pulled him down, using the arm around his neck, to connect their mouths once more.

He only waited a moment, letting it sink in, before he guided himself into her, and Marie swallowed his groan as he did so, her own moan muffled by his mouth as he slid into her for the first time, ever, joining them.

_Fuck_ , he could have spilled himself right then. She felt so _good._

He was unprepared, inexperienced, and he shuddered when he inched into her. She called out his name as his piercing slid in, stretching her further, and she arched in pleasure as the natural curve of him dragged the barbell over her walls. She tightened around him as a result, gasping.

“Marie-“ he choked out against her lips, immediately pausing and dropping his hold on himself to fist the sheets, instead. He could almost feel that, if he were to keep moving, he’d lose it right there, and yet, even just being inside of her with no motion at all was making the heat that pooled beneath his skin feel overwhelming. Marie writhed, wanting to take more of him inside, and he cried out, clenching his eyes shut as he moved from her mouth, hiding his face against her shoulder.

“I- a minute-“ he managed to stutter out, and Marie rubbed at the back of his neck, hitching her legs higher around him as he collected himself. He was barely a few inches in, but even that felt amazing, and she moaned as he stretched her, telling him how good he felt. She was ready for him, he could tell by her slick heat, how he could feel her pulse around him, and he didn’t want to leave her unfulfilled. He just needed a moment to collect himself. He remembered overhearing talk of disappointing flings, faked intimacy.

But it didn’t feel fake. It feel overwhelmingly real; not just the physical aspect of it, but the rest, what he was grasping at with stumbling fingers, that rounded out what being intimate meant.

_He didn’t know how to do this_. He felt clumsy, his lack of experience was no doubt showing, and it was only with so many years of reigning in his control that he didn’t immediately spill himself inside of her, bucked and moved and found his own pleasure inside of her as she was left to hold him. No, he didn’t want that. He wanted to feel her twitch and shudder against him, to feel her bite his shoulder to try to hold down her cries, to feel the warmth that was her. He sucked in a harsh breath against her skin, closing his eyes as he sucked at her pulse, listening to her whimper as he inched deeper inside of her.

The room was hot. _She_ was hot, impossibly slick, impossibly perfect around him. Her soul pushed against his, urging him on as she adjusted herself beneath him, moving her hips around to accept him in her.

And, slowly, he found his rhythm, making certain that he aimed upward, that the ball-end of his piercing was rubbing over her front walls, stimulating her further. Her cries were soft and genuine; Marie was a lousy actress. She couldn’t lie, and especially not when he had such a direct link to her soul. It told him everything, what was working and what wasn’t, and when the hand that wasn’t holding her own came back between her thighs, rubbing once more, the immediate pleasure that yawned in her shuddered through the both of them.

And with it, Marie opened her mouth, her voice high and almost breathless when she let “I love you,” slip out.

He stopped completely, his eyes widening as he shook, and Marie’s own eye went wide as he did so. When she opened her mouth to ask him what was wrong, he only kissed her, fiercely, hard, his rhythm in her faltering as he started up again, hearing her whimper as he did so. As he pulled away, she kept her mouth open, shreds of his name passing by her lips, but he was losing himself in her and he knew it, finding his completion as he desperately rubbed her.

“F-Fr-Franken-“

“Say-say it-it again,” he demanded, kissing over her jaw, sucking hard at the underside, listening to her yelp.

“Fr-Franken! Oh, g-god, Franken! I love you!”

The immediate spike of pleasure ran through him like an electric current and he said “Again,” once more, unable to control his breathing as it broke up the words, but Marie said it again, calling it out into the night air, into the heat of their room, and found that he had lost all sense of control, his head spinning as she chanted, and he called her name on a loop, repeating it mindlessly as he drove himself into her, his frantic rubbing making her thighs twitch.

He was so close. He wanted to sob against her skin as she pulsed and tightened around him, and his hold on her hand had gone almost bone-white. Marie’s own grasp only got more firm as she came to the precipice, too, where he was waiting for her to fall so he could catch her.

As he reared up, kissing her and unable to hold back anymore, her legs tightened around him, her back arching high against him as she shuddered and trembled, her orgasm shuddering through her and through him, through the link of their resonance as he spilled himself, everything intense and too bright and too sensitive.

The world could have fallen around his ears; his head was spinning, his body twitching and spent, even muscle in him relaxing immediately. He didn’t have the good sense to roll, taking Marie with him, and, instead, she yelped softly when he landed on her, his knees weak. He felt dazed, like he was falling to madness yet not, like his head wasn’t screwed on the right way.

Marie’s golden wavelength made her glow brighter than before, brighter than he had ever seen her, and she was whimpering when he finally caught enough sense of himself to realize he was likely crushing her far smaller form. Mustering all the energy he had, he rolled to his back, and the action pulled him out of her. Marie was shuddering in his hold, and he wrapped an arm around her, breathing hard, their hands still twined together. She was pressing her cheek to his, and when his mind caught up to him, he realized that she was still saying his name.

As the heat died down, ebbing away and being replaced by the slight chill that was always characteristic of Patchwork Labs, he released his hold on her long enough to grasp a blanket, throwing it on top of them and replacing his arm around her, holding her close.

“Franken…” she said, and though her voice was tired, he could make out the contentment. It inspired him to tangle their legs together, his soul coming over her own as though to encompass her.

“Yes?” he asked, stroking over her hair.

“I think…I’m going to miss my flight.”

The words jolted through him. For a heart stopping moment, the cruel thought that she would still leave dragged through him, as jagged and painful as a bolt of lightning, but her soul was too happy, too attached. He could practically feel their resonance rate increasing, and he rubbed a circle between her shoulder blades.

“On accident?” he asked, half for clarification and half to simply listen to her voice,  finally regaining his breath as he settled, pliant and relaxed against the mattress, and Marie settled against him in the same way. Slowly, she turned her head, kissing him on the cheek and adjusting herself so she was resting her head on his shoulder.

“On purpose,” she answered, and he wondered just when she’d gotten under his skin, worked her way beneath his sternum. His hold on her tightened, fingers playing at the still flushed flesh of her hip, her body glowing in undeniable proof of her climax, her wavelength playing over him in soothing, healing waves.

Damn right she was missing her flight.

He didn’t want to let go of her.


	4. Masturbation

_"I'm all in my skin, and I'm not gonna wait."_

~ Touch of My Hand

* * *

She didn't know why she couldn't sleep, only that she had rolled around in her bed for the millionth time, trying to find comfort and failing. A quick glance at her alarm clock told her it was close to 3 am, and she groaned, throwing her arm over her face. She had to be up in a few hours and she didn't know why she couldn't just go the hell to sleep.

Maybe she needed to unwind. She felt tense, wired too high. She needed a massage, or something. Maybe tea. She closed her eyes again. She thinks even Stein was sleeping, since she had heard the closing of his door about half an hour ago, the sound of running water, the rustle of sheets. Everything was more easily heard in Patchwork Labs: the place was built like a paper house with paper walls so thin she had once legitimately heard paper rustling. 

Perhaps that was why she couldn't sleep, the wind whipping outside, Stein's footsteps having died down as he settled into bed and was likely slumbering as she damn well should have been. She threw her head back against the pillows, taking in a deep breath and letting her eye close.

And then, it immediately snapped open, wide and surprised and entirely caught off guard. The noise she heard was so silent, so quiet, she was amazed she picked up on it, but it shuddered through her, seemingly shuddered through the house, and she felt electric. 

"Oh, God! M-Marie," she heard him choke out from his room, and her breath hitched in her throat. Their rooms were right next to one anothers, making it so that they shared a wall, and she found herself scrambling to press against it, her ears strained, trying to catch more.

He couldn't be. . .

Could he?

That heavy breathing was unmistakable. It was punctuated by the lowest, most ragged scraps of moan she had ever heard, half muffled by the wall, half by him. Had he just said her name while he was. . .

Her cheeks flared up, her entire body feeling hot. Maybe it was the lack of sleep, maybe it was just that she was thrown so off kilter, but her head felt like it was spinning.

Good Lord he was. . .and thinking of her? And-

Her mouth dry all of a sudden, and her thighs shifted around, rubbing together for some relief of the ache that was settling between them. She bit her lip, feeling almost ashamed at how warm she was getting, listening to him doing something so private.

Something so private with her name in his mouth, called out so passionately.

Did he have his eyes closed? Was he envisioning that it was her hand? Her mouth? Was he imagining her warm, amber eye glancing up at him, her soft body pressed against his?

She swallowed hard.

The thoughts were doing more for her than the actual sounds were, and she crossed her legs as though trying to hide from herself that she was so affected. It would be wrong to. . .

_Would_ it be wrong?

_He_ was doing it. He was sucking in a harsh breath, calling for her. Her name had never sounded as amazing as when it was half-whispered in Stein's ragged tenor, and she found herself rubbing her thighs together harder.

And, though her face flushed even deeper, she slowly let her fingers creep down her body.

He wouldn't have to know. He didn't need to find out that she had heard him, had been so affected by what he was doing, how he sounded, that she'd immediately shuddered in pleasure, the room suddenly too hot. Besides, she could sit on how she was feeling all night, or she could do something about it, and she was so on edge already. She was reminded of when she was younger, when she was alone in her room and desperately in love with her Meister, with him, that every time she tried to bring relief, he'd be in her head, her fantasy spun out behind her eyelids. She breathed in hard when she touched her breasts, biting her lip. When her palms caught her hardening nipples, a jolt of pleasure ran through her, intensified when she heard him bite off a moan. She whimpered, settling against the wall to better hear him, her head resting on the pillow as she fluttered her eye closed.

The walls were thin. It was probably a result of being on the outskirts of town, a place that didn't need to think of courtesy for neighbors. Or perhaps because it was a laboratory, one that was built for scientific experimentation, not living and sleeping and sharing space with someone else at night. So, with her eye closed, she could take in each soft sound Stein let slip from his lips, each cut off word. She could envision how his chest, scarred and pale and strong, was heaving, how he was bucking into his hand.

Imagining it was her hand.

And she imagined it was his when her fingers remained at her breast, worming beneath her shirt and pinching her nipple. She licked her lip, sucking in a harsh breath when she twisted slightly, the spike of pleasure only getting headier when he groaned, practically in her ear. It was too easy to envision him on top of her, too easy to think of his body arched over hers as he moaned and called for her. As she did so, her other hand found its way to the elastic of her panties, and she softly rubbed at the skin of her belly, arching. Usually, she didn't tease herself, but she thought _he_ would. Tease her. That he would trace her entire body with his hands, calloused palms and short nails, leaving light shapes as he gently scratched at the skin of her calves and her ribs and her shoulders. He would leave harsh bites over her neck, over her chest, waiting until she'd yelp and buck before he'd suck at her skin, soothing the sting his teeth would leave.

He would press her into the bed, press his body over her until they were almost molded together, and he still wouldn't give her what she wanted. He'd wait until she'd be downright dripping for him, pleading that he'd slide into her sopping, slick body before swallowing her pleasured wails in his mouth while he stretched her.

She bucked into her hand, grinding against her fingers as she pressed them over her damp panties. In her fantasy, she was envisioning that Stein was barely tracing over the fabric, teasing her through the material so she'd stay on the edge between aroused and maddened, and she spread her legs, shifting downward to get more friction.

With a shudder, she ran her index finger down the cloth, between her lips, before she moved back up and slipped her fingers beneath the elastic band of her hipsters, taking them off before moving her hand back.

Stein breathing was coming in short, fast bursts, sharp and desperate as he chased after his pleasure, and behind her eyelids, Marie imagined he was stroking himself as he touched her: turned on by how sopping wet and ready she was for him.

She whimpered out a moan when she located her clit, so sensitive she jerked, dragging a high pitched, louder call from her throat. The hand at her breast squeezed as she slowly rubbed herself, imagining Stein's strained smirk when she arched up into the touch.

Her voice was breathy, high, and she was already whispering out small pleads, so lost in her head.

'Beg me,' he said in her mind, strained and ragged, and through the wall, he choked out "Marie!" once more, only aiding her, making her whine as she stroked even more softly to mimic what he would do.

"P-please," she whispered, calling out into the suddenly too-hot air of her room. "P-please!"

But it wasn't specific enough. He'd want her to be specific, would look down on her with that calculating look in his eyes as he moved his finger from her clit, effortlessly sliding to her soft, welcoming opening. And her fingers did just that, tracing around herself a few times as though to tease, and when the appendage didn't sink in, she bucked her hips up, calling "Please!" even louder.

A part of her knew that he must have heard her, because he choked on the very air, his voice tipping up higher as it broke, and her name came out as a question.

"Marie?"

There was still something so desperate about it, something that wailed out for touch, and she could easily imagine him saying it as a plead for clarification.

_'Please, what?'_

She bucked up once more, biting her lip hard before she whimpered out "Touch me," waiting a few moments as she listened in to his sharp inhale before she slid her finger in, crooking it and savagely pressing over the soft spot inside of her, sliding in and out.

"M-Marie!" he whimpered, and she could almost feel his voice shake the wall she was leaning against.

Death, were they pressed against each other? Nothing but cheap plaster keeping them from being skin to skin?

He was getting close, and she squirmed harshly as her free hand left her breast, trailing over her stomach and leaving faint scratch marks over her skin before she rubbed herself in time to her fingering, moaning without a second thought. "Mmm, right there," she said, and she could hear how he was starting to talk nonsense, just tatters of her name and his own soft pleads, begging her to keep going, breathing faster and faster.

"Franken!" she wailed as she added a second finger, stretching herself and slicking her palm with how wet she was.

And she heard him lose himself. She heard him sob out "Oh, fuck! Marie!", heard the soft thump as he pressed himself against the wall.

He was probably bucking into his hand, imagining it was her. His fist had probably tightened around himself, stroking the head as his cum spilled out of him. She whimpered, speeding up and feeling her thighs twitch, her legs rearing up, her belly flexing in preparation.

She imagined his face, flushed and handsome, his head tipped back with his mouth open in a little "O", surrendering himself to her. The great Franken Stein, wrecked as he fucked himself over the thought of her, arching off the bed and spilling white over his flushed body.

Marie came so hard, she felt her toes curl into a near cramp, and her keen of his name was so unapologetically uninhibited, she thought, whether they were on the outskirts of town or not, the next house over could have heard her.

Stein was still breathing hard after he came, she could hear it through the haze of her orgasm, her walls spasming around her fingers, her pulse felt through her entire body, and she was no better, flushed and trembling.

And for a moment, that was all she felt: the pleasurable fog of what she had done.

When she fluttered her eye open, however, she was so jarred to see that he wasn't there, wasn't right in front of her, that she couldn't help but jolt.

Her hands slid away from between her legs, settling on either side of her as she panted, coming to the realization of what she had done.

Good lord, this was her _Meister_. She lived with him. This was _Stein_. 

She had just fucked herself to the sound of her Meister, the thoughts of Stein doing what she had always wanted him to do to her. As a girl, it had been okay: she was young, she was near silent, muffling herself with her pillow as she gently called his name. She had barely known what she was doing, stumbling and clumsy. She was a grown woman now; a grown woman who had listened to him come undone, who had listened to him as he came, begging for her.

The shame spread through her, starting at her belly and extending out until even the tips of her toes felt the buzz.

He had _heard_ her.

How was she meant to hide it, now?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I lost the need for shame a while ago.

**Author's Note:**

> More smut coming to a screen near you!


End file.
